


No Time Like Now

by Savaial



Category: Dr Who - Fandom
Genre: I love them so I make fun of them, M/M, They aren't gay bashing, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savaial/pseuds/Savaial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Third Doctor isn't having a good day.  The Master thinks on his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time Like Now

**Author's Note:**

> Not gay bashing. This isn't about homosexuality, it's about consorting with the enemy. This was written for Best Enemies.

The Doctor wasn’t having a good morning. He’d awoken to discover he’d caught some sort of human virus, which should never, ever happen. Stoking his healing abilities to the level needed in order to burn that virus up had made him very unguarded and silly, as well as disoriented and sporadically cross. So, he’d ordered coffee. Logical thing to do. He usually liked tea, but coffee was a powerful, irritating stimulant that would help him get rid of the germs. Or so he thought. If he’d managed to actually get some of that black brew inside him instead of all over his legs, it would have worked, he knew it.

Then, the Doctor discovered the Brigadier had government types coming in to view the compound, hang around and ask stupid questions. He had no patience for that on a smooth day. He hated bureaucracy with a passion. Worse, humans seemed to have a particular fondness for it, and handled authority very badly. No, he was the scientific advisor. Yes, he did important work. No, he required his assistant, thanks, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t remove Miss Grant. Because, he liked Miss Grant. She was sweet and good-hearted and brave, and could pick a lock faster than an automatic lock picker with a fresh battery.

Grumbling, the Doctor sent Jo on a fool’s errand, just to get her out of sight of all the stuffed shirts running around the place. That should keep her safe. Then, as an afterthought, because he really was sick and out of sorts, he decided he’d hide, too. It pained him to have to hide from humans, but drastic times called for drastic measures. So, he gathered up his current papers, stole a pot of coffee, and fled into his TARDIS, slamming the door and leaving the Brigadier to explain why his top scientific advisor had made a grand exit into a police box.

The first thing he saw was a pair of black clad legs sticking out from under an access hatch at the main controls. Something in him simply snapped. How dared a human wander past him and start mucking about with his beloved, broken TARDIS? He dropped all his things right on the floor, leaned down and grabbed an ankle, giving the insolent creature a good, hard, jerk. He nearly swallowed his own tongue when the Master came sliding out, a wrench in one hand and an energy weapon in the other.

They looked at each other for a long, affronted moment before the Doctor exploded. “What in blazes are you doing?” he demanded, and it was a mark of his benevolence and restraint that he didn’t just put a size ten right in his mortal enemy’s solar plexus, he believed.

“What have _you_ done to your machine?” the Master demanded right back, getting to his feet with dignity that the Doctor rather admired. “You’ve made a mess of her!”

“It’s _my_ TARDIS!” The Doctor hung over him, determined to intimidate by looming if nothing else. He fervently hoped his physiology had mutated the bug that currently ran around in his bloodstream, and that he could give it to his best enemy. “How did you get in here?” Of course, the Master was trying to pirate pieces of his beloved time machine, he just knew it.

The Master sniffed. “I walked in. A little hypnosis here and there is all I need to walk into nearly any establishment I so choose,” he bragged. “Getting past _you_ wasn’t even difficult; you don’t see much when you’ve accidentally scalded the daylights out of yourself.” He paused thoughtfully. “I shall have to remember that.” He tilted his head and looked over the Doctor suddenly, inhaling the air in earnest. “By Rassilon, you’ve caught a _human_ disease! That’s disgusting!”

For a bare moment the Doctor was gratified, because he’d been eaten up with loathing over the problem himself and couldn’t even carp about it to anyone without coming off like the biggest prat on the whole, stupid planet. Then, the insult within the insult surfaced in his groggy, aching head, and he scowled. “It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

The Master tossed the wrench down and got a handkerchief out of his pocket. Calmly, he unfolded it and covered his nose and mouth. “Trust you to harbor a filthy, human malady, you ape-loving cretin,” he broadcast in a rather muffled way. “It wasn’t enough to mangle a precious TARDIS; no, you have to go and become a breeding ground for infection. You can’t even ward off influenza. Spend too much more time here and you’ll become just like these miserable primitives. If you’d just say the proper words to the High Council, lie like your existence depends upon it, because it really does at this point, they’d release the clamp around your brain and you could go free.”

The Doctor didn’t appreciate the lecture one bit. He had his pride, and he wasn’t going to ask for his freedom back. That would give those interfering pen pushers on Gallifrey too much satisfaction. The Master should know very well it was a fate worse than death to capitulate to their will. “You should talk! You burned up six regenerations just trying to get out of a black hole by yourself rather than swallow a little pride!”

"I was young,” the Master replied flippantly, giving an arrogant little shrug.

The Doctor found he really couldn’t hold onto his temper any more. There were limits to his patience, and he’d had all he could take for one morning. Completely ignoring the weapon in the Master’s hand, the Doctor dove upon his mouthy enemy with every intention of just beating him senseless; that’s what he was _for_ , after all.

Grunting with surprise, the Master fell backward onto the controls. He managed a good pistol-whip before the Doctor rolled him onto the floor and started strangling him. “Idiot,” he gasped. “Strangling me won’t do any good. You’ve… been here… so long you can’t… remember your own composition. That’s why you caught the cursed flu!”

In the seconds that followed, neither Time Lord could swear they weren’t the cause of what happened. Oh, they’d cheerfully blame each other, but secretly they couldn’t rule themselves out, either. The TARDIS engaged and went into flight mode, which would have thrilled the Doctor if he weren’t so busy trying to get a dangerous, heavy spanner out of his adversary’s hand before it smashed his head in.

The Master somehow got a knee up and planted his (he thought) rather elegantly shod foot on the Doctor’s chest. He shoved hard, sending the Doctor careening backward. “Venusian Akido,” he sneered, getting up and dusting himself with irritable, back-hand swipes. “I’ve been to Ancient Venus, too. I never said, because you seemed to enjoy bragging on your skills so much. Let the madman have his delusions, don’t you know?”

The Doctor, wheezing slightly from exertion on top of having his lungs full of mucus, threw the wrench at him. “It’s just like you to attack a sick person!”

“You, I believe, prompted this sad little engagement,” the Master reminded with no small amount of glee.

“Shut up,” the Doctor shot back. “I hear something.”

The two men got quiet. Almost immediately, a moaning sound came to them from deep inside the TARDIS. The Doctor pinned the Master with a filthy look. “What sort of experiment did you drag on board with you?” he demanded. “Oh, my apologies; it’s probably some deranged, be-fanged, fire-breathing animal you intend to inflict upon this planet.”

“Moron,” the Master swore. “I didn’t bring anything on board, I-.” He cut himself off as the first moaner was joined by another.

“Two of them!” The Doctor put his hands in his pockets and looked sternly at his enemy. “What have you done?”

Resenting that parental tone, the Master jimmied up the setting on his blaster and took the safety off. “Whatever it is, we’d better find it. Can’t you tell, you idiot, that we’ve overlapped? We’re inside a future TARDIS.”

The Doctor grimaced. “Yes, I was hoping you didn’t come to that conclusion, too. I don’t like being right all the time.” He gave a sweeping motion with his hand to indicate the Master should go first. “You’ve got the weapon,” he pointed out. “You could give it to me, I suppose-.”

“Do I look like a simpleton?” The Master gave his gun a little jerk, pointing it at him. “You go first. Whatever it is can eat _you_ ; it’ll give me time to either kill it or to make my escape.”

Feeling let down, the Doctor obediently preceded their party of two. “You know I hate guns,” he complained.

“The fact that you ignore a weapon is in no way a reflection upon my practicality,” the Master said smugly.

They took hallway after hallway, following the noises, which increased in volume the closer they drew. Finally, they stood before a slightly ajar door. They stood there, listening, and both men came to the same conclusion at the same moment. The Doctor’s cheeks and neck flushed pink, and he couldn’t look at his enemy. “Do we really want to know?” he whispered.

“I’m curious,” the Master replied, putting the barrel of his gun against the door with a very slight tap. He pushed a little.

The Doctor nudged him out of the way and glared down. “Look here,” he protested, making certain to breathe directly in his enemy’s face. He hadn’t given up on the quest to spread his germs. “That’s something exceedingly private,” he said quietly. “I know you never cared a thing for the privacy of others, but at least think about it in regards to yourself. You wouldn’t appreciate someone spying upon you during…” He stopped talking, now very embarrassed but determined to soldier on if he could only summon the right words. “That’s probably me in there, though I can’t fathom it,” he said swiftly, just coming right on out with it. “This _is_ my TARDIS.”

“Why, Doctor,” the Master said in his sweetest, most insincere tone. “You, really? I wasn’t aware you’d stoop to animal urges, not at all.”

“I might’ve gotten married!” the Doctor protested.

The Master lifted one, elegant eyebrow. “Again? You swore you wouldn’t, not ever. Are you an oath breaker as well as a primate-loving germ factory? My, my, how time does change things.”

“You’re an infuriating little swot, do you know that?” the Doctor replied, gunshot fast and brutal. “Fine. Go ahead and peek, but _I’m_ not.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” the Master prodded him with his blaster. “I can’t keep one eye on you while I satisfy my curiosity. Get in front of me and open that door.”

The Doctor didn’t say another word, mainly because he couldn’t help also being curious. He hadn’t had a decent relationship with anyone in such a long time, and he thought it might give him some hope to see himself engaged in coitus. He cleared his throat as lowly as possible and slowly pushed open the door while the Master kept the blaster pressed against his spine.

Two men, he registered first, slightly surprised. He had nothing against that, not at all, but he never figured he’d go that way himself. As he watched, the smaller man drove into his partner’s backside with enthusiasm, throwing his head back and giving a strange, moaning laugh. “Hell yes, Doctor,” he gasped. “Tighten up for me.”

Behind the Doctor, the Master snickered. He’d enjoyed the big reveal that his enemy was receiving instead of giving.

“Master!” The lankier man shouted, gripping the bed sheets like they’d keep him anchored. Every muscle in his body trembled. Sweat gleamed in the low light.

The Doctor heard the Master suck in a quick, startled breath. The gun didn’t press on him so much, now.

The bed began to shake with the couple’s enthusiasm. The earlier Master and Doctor couldn’t look away. Finally, the Master snapped out of his horrified trance and backed away, dragging the Doctor with him. They ran like frightened children down two corridors before they stopped. The Master sagged against a wall and closed his eyes. The Doctor took the opposite wall, putting his face against it and sucking wind.

Ten minutes dragged by. Suddenly, the Master straightened and checked his gun. “I’m going back,” he announced grimly. “This has to stop by whatever measures must be taken.”

“You can’t kill our future selves,” the Doctor said, knocking the gun out of his hand. It skittered down the hallway, accidentally discharged, and blew a hole the size of a trash bin lid.

“You can’t seriously condone this!” The Master waved his arms, knowing he looked ridiculous and quite beyond caring. “I rely upon you for a certain level of entertainment and ego-stroking; the only stroking I see going on in there is the sort that-.”

“Yes, I saw it, too,” the Doctor hurriedly interrupted. “Regardless, they’re us, and we can’t hurt them!”

“Why not? _We_ come _before_ them, so we should easily cancel out whatever they’ve done to get to this… this…” The Master felt his face heating up. “Did we see the same thing or not?” He’d completely forgotten about his weapon now, so rattled that his focus suffered.

“I don’t see what _you’re_ so upset about,” the Doctor said harshly, leaning over him for round three of germ transfer. “You’re obviously the _man_ in our sick little relationship!”

The Master eyed him suspiciously, but that fact took hold in his head and began resonating. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, beginning to calm. Dominance always had a way of soothing him. “Well, to be fair, we don’t know if this is their… _usual_ … way of congress.”

“I’d imagine _some_ rapport has been established, because I wouldn’t turn my back on you for any reason, not even if you were the most skilled lover in all of time and space,” the Doctor shot back. He’d never, ever intended to speak of such matters with his best adversary, but these things needed pointing out. “Going down on all fours for you is probably the most dangerous thing I can imagine.”

The Master flushed dark red as the Doctor gave in to crudity in his panic. “I didn’t see a weapon,” he admitted. “Unless you count the one employed in their sordid little act of-.”

“That’s not a weapon,” the Doctor interjected.

The Master smiled at him, that creeping appreciation for ending up the one on top just seeping from his eyes. “It is if I say it is,” he corrected, showing his teeth.

“You’re enjoying this,” the Doctor accused hotly.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t at first,” the Master admitted evenly. “And, even in considering that I’m obviously the rightful, dominating partner, there’s still an element of distaste. But, we seem to be fairly handsome men, don’t we? Young and vigorous, I’d say. Perhaps our younger bodies acquired an appetite and this is merely the logical conclusion?”

“Oh, you don’t wait that long,” a voice said smugly.

The Doctor and Master turned to see their counterparts lounging shoulder to shoulder in the hallway opening, wearing illegal smiles and dressing gowns that matched. The new Doctor gazed fondly at the older Master. “Oh, look at you,” he breathed, advancing upon him swiftly. “God, I loved this beard! I never said, but I did.”

The older Master found his face held firmly and his lips attacked. He struggled, but in seconds he forgot why he was fighting. That probably had a lot to do with the fact that this future Doctor could kiss like no one’s business. He melted against his adversary’s taller, longer frame, helpless to resist a battle of tongues and deaf to the sounds of horror the older Doctor made freely. His back hit the wall, and he felt a long leg insinuating between his. He was shocked to find himself hard as a rock. Faintly, he noticed sounds of protest coming from somewhere close.

“Listen here, old chap,” the older Doctor said in a hasty, panicked tone as his future Master stalked him. “You seem perfectly satisfied with my other self, so why not leave it at that, eh?”

“Satisfaction is something I never get,” the new Master breathed, closing in. “I can’t _ever_ get enough of you, Doctor; how fortunate that I can now have two of you to play with.”

The Doctor did what he had to do. He grabbed his stunned adversary out from under Future Doctor, and forced him into a dead run. They skidded into the main control room and feverishly united in throwing levers, valves, buttons, and switches, wrenching the TARDIS free of the future TARDIS in seconds. “My God, what a talented mouth,” the Master proclaimed, eying his companion with unveiled curiosity and not a little greed.

“Stop it.” The Doctor swallowed hard. “We are not getting up to that disgraceful behavior. Where’s your dignity?”

“In the gutter with my suddenly pointless chastity,” the Master answered. He paced around the consol, his hands flexing and his hips loose. “Come here, Doctor.”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor swore, going around the other way. He tried to do something, anything, for the TARDIS had all kinds of safeguards to stop an attack, but he couldn’t remember anything, thanks to the interference of his Time Lord captors. Desperate, he threw a switch, which did nothing. Suddenly, he found his hands pinned to the controls by another, black-gloved pair.

The Doctor looked down into the Master’s intense, hungry mien. Something inside him quivered as his attention lingered on those rather firm and well shaped lips. _Sod it_ , he thought, and he set out to prove he could kiss every bit as well as his future self. _Besides, there’s no more direct way to give him the flu._

 

 


End file.
